


A million years ago, I said (this one's mine)

by meowvelous



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, F/F, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Apologizes, Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, Insecure Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Minor Injuries, Minor Violence, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Past Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Pining, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, no beta we die like witchers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:48:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27201355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meowvelous/pseuds/meowvelous
Summary: Yennefer said something — Jaskier couldn’t catch what, not everyone had super Witcher hearing — and Geralt’s wholefacechanged. His eyes widened, and then crinkled, catching the light. His smile slowly appeared, like the sun breaking the horizon at dawn. And when he laughed, it was a tragically brief, beautiful thing, because then Geralt caught himself and looked down, his smile slowly fading away.And as Jaskier stared at Geralt, a single thought crystalized, whispered by a small voice in his heart;this one’s mine.***Jaskier loves Geralt, but Geralt doesn't love him back. That's been made abundantly clear. He's almost come to terms with it, when Destiny (via Yennefer of Vengerberg) brings him and Geralt back together. Except now Geralt has his own family, and doesn't seem to need Jaskier at all. Maybe. Probably. Even if Geralt's actions seem to say otherwise.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Triss Merigold/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 50
Kudos: 1111





	A million years ago, I said (this one's mine)

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT: holy cow!! Thanks for over 5k hits and 1k kudos!!! I never would’ve imagined my silly little story would be so well received. Thank you so much!!!!
> 
> *
> 
> I was listening to the Hamilton soundtrack (as one does), and got punched in the face by feelings. Somehow, it lead to me writing this in two sittings (3k in one, 4k in the other). Yeah, I don't know either. This doesn't quite follow show canon with regards to how things shake out at the end of season 1 but eh.
> 
> Title paraphrased from the line in the cut song "Congratulations" (also featured on the Hamilton mixtape, by the amazing Dessa).
> 
> Warning for vaguely possessive language, I guess, but if you read the summary, you've seen the extent of it. Oh, and vaguely described/alluded to violence, as well as a hand injury/broken bones. Oh and allusions to the dubious consent nature of the orgy in Season 1 Episode 5.
> 
> Much love to the Witcher server I'm on; I wrote this during sprints, and was encouraged by the love y'all have show to it. I love you all. <3

The timeline went something like this;

First, Jaskier almost died, because Geralt was a jerk. Then Geralt saved his life, because he was a _heroic_ jerk, and nearly died in the process. And somewhere in there, Geralt fell dick-first into love with Yennefer.

Which— Jaskier didn’t usually didn’t care about who Geralt had sex with. Normally, he would’ve even called Geralt falling in love to be _progress_ , for Jaskier’s whole 'rehabilitating Geralt’s image' project.

But.

Yennefer threatened to stab Jaskier. And, more importantly, she drugged (enchanted?) a room full of people into having an orgy, without anyone’s consent. And, yes, maybe, a _small_ part of his dislike might stem from not liking how Geralt looked at Yennefer despite _barely knowing her_ , but. Really, the first two things mattered more.

After the djinn incident, Geralt and Yennefer went their separate ways (which was baffling considering the whole ‘suddenly in love’ thing but whatever), and Jaskier followed after Geralt like the dutiful bard he was, and then that should’ve been that. Except.

They just _kept_ running into Yennefer. And then again. And again. And every time, Geralt would get this soppy look and his face and spend the night with her and—.

Jaskier was getting off track. 

The point being, the second part of the timeline was thus;

One evening, the three of them were in a tavern. Yennefer was drinking red wine and looking bored, while Geralt gazed at her like she’d just saved a cart full of orphan puppies, and Jaskier managed to observe this while putting on a rousing show for the other patrons.

Yennefer said something — Jaskier couldn’t catch what, not everyone had super Witcher hearing — and Geralt’s whole _face_ changed. His eyes widened, and then crinkled, catching the light. His smile slowly appeared, like the sun breaking the horizon at dawn. And when he laughed, it was a tragically brief, beautiful thing, because then Geralt caught himself and looked down, his smile slowly fading away.

And as Jaskier stared at Geralt, a single thought crystalized, whispered by a small voice in his heart; _this one’s mine_.

Then Jaskier realized his singing had trailed off and valiantly threw himself back into the performance. It was lucky everyone else was either drunk or distracted, and no one seemed to pick up on his lapse in attention.

By the time Jaskier’s show was finished, Geralt and Yennefer had disappeared, clearly having moved onto their horizontal tango part of the evening. But that was fine! It left Jaskier to see if the consumption of _many_ drinks would erase his earlier epiphany.

(It didn’t. Though it did lead to the worst hangover of his life.)

***

Anyway, despite whatever Geralt said, Jaskier wasn’t stupid or completely lacking in self awareness. Regardless of what his heart might say, Geralt wasn’t _his_. Jaskier knew that. Geralt wasn’t _anybody’s_ , even if he clearly, desperately wanted to be Yennefer’s.

Jaskier just hoped Geralt would continue to tolerate him enough that Jaskier could stay in his orbit for a little bit longer.

***

Then, dragon, hunt, mountain.

***

Thirdly. Life, post-Geralt, was... quieter. Jaskier himself was quieter. No point in talking, when you had no one to talk to. He stayed in villages longer, from a few days to weeks, and travelled only during the day, unless he could find a troupe to travel alongside.

He wasn’t sure if it was Destiny or Geralt’s wish, that stopped their paths from crossing. Jaskier didn’t care much either way. It took months, but eventually, Jaskier trained himself out of perking up whenever he heard people gossiping about Witchers. He knew how to mind his own business.

Kept his head down, and moved along.

Time passed. Jaskier didn’t bother keeping track of how long, anymore; now that he didn’t need to note what season it was, how long he’d have with Geralt before the Witcher headed north. 

Some time later, one night, Jaskier finished a show to find Yennefer watching him from the audience. When he noticed her, she gave an odd-half smile and raised her glass of wine in acknowledgement.

After taking his bows and collecting his coin, Jaskier approached her table. He wasn’t sure what he had planned to do. Trade barbs, likely, but the words died down in his lips when the chair pulled itself out in invitation and Yennefer poured another glass of wine.

Slowly, cautiously, Jaskier sat down, setting his lute case beside him. Picking up the glass, he made a show of smelling the wine. “I sure hope this isn’t poisoned, it would be terribly embarrassing to die from a single glass, and go out with people thinking I’m a lightweight,”

Yennefer rolled her eyes; he wondered if it got tiring, being so _bored_ all of the time. “If it was, you would be able to smell it, yes?” She asked, coolly arching an eyebrow.

Ah. So that’s where they were going to start.

Jaskier toasted her, and took a long drink (damn it, that was a nice vintage). “When did you figure it out?” He was genuinely curious, considering he had travelled with Geralt for _twenty years_ without the Witcher ever picking up on it.

“When I saw you now, without your crow’s feet.” Yennefer tilted her head, lips almost twitching into a smile. “Unless you’re a Doppler, and the true Jaskier is dead, face-down in a ditch somewhere.”

Despite himself, Jaskier gave an amused snort at her detached tone. “I’m _terribly_ sorry to disappoint, but I’m the real me. No point in keeping up the façade, not when nobody on the road knows how old I’m supposed to be.”

With a decidedly Geralt-like “hm”, Yennefer sipped from her goblet, unnerving eyes trained on Jaskier.

Part of Jaskier was tempted to let the silence stew, but that had never been his style. “And to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” He asked, tapping his fingers in a random pattern against the tabletop.

“I heard a rumor that the White Wolf and his bard,” Yennefer began.

“I’m _not_ his anything.” Jaskier interrupted sharply.

She glared at him, wordlessly conveying her displeasure with his gall. But Jaskier simply glared back, before waving permission for her to continue.

Another eyeroll. “Were parted.”

“Since after the dragon hunt.” Jaskier confirmed, trying to sound like it didn’t matter to him, one way or another. “Haven’t seen him since, and frankly, I don’t care to.” It had been a small kindness of Yennefer to provide wine; it _almost_ made up for having to have the current conversation, he thought, taking another drink.

“And why is that?” And yes, Yennefer actually seemed _curious_ , of all things. “From how you always trailed after him, I didn’t think anything could’ve changed your mind.”

“Yes, well, turns out being told you’re nothing but a burden, and that your presence is the furthest thing from wanted, makes a rather convincing argument for solo travel.” Oops, there was the anger, the hurt. Time for more wine.

Her eyebrows slowly raised, and a mixture of pity and guilt came across her face. “You spoke to Geralt, after I broke things off with him.” Yennefer said, slowly working through it. “That was stupid, even for you.”

“Love makes fools of us all.” Jaskier returned, shrugging off the insult, because it wasn’t like he gave a fuck about her opinion of him... Even if he had to reluctantly admit to himself that she had a point.

“Better you than I.” Yennefer decided, drinking from her glass which never seemed to empty. Now that was an excellent use of magic; Jaskier approved, even if she had the poor taste to reject Geralt (though those reasons of hers _were_ valid, ugh).

“We all make mistakes.” Jaskier sniffed, and bit down a smile when that made Yennefer let out a surprised laugh.

A surprisingly companionable silence fell; It ended when Jaskier finished his wine and set down the glass heavily. “Well, as much fun as this was,” Which wasn’t entirely sarcasm, “My bed is calling me.”

“Jaskier.” Yennefer hesitated, before sighing. With a lazy gesture of her hand, a blanket of quiet fell around them. “I did track you down for another reason.”

“Oh?” Jaskier sighed, because, _of course_. “And that is...?”

“Rumor has it that Geralt was in Cintra when it fell.” Yennefer said, eyes almost glowing in the low-light of the tavern.

He had been in the process of standing, but her words caused him to stagger back into his seat as all the strength left his legs. Heart in his throat, Jaskier stared at her. Geralt couldn’t be dead, he reasoned. She would have opened with that. “And?” He rasped.

His panic seemed to worry her; Yennefer’s eyes widened. “He’s _fine_ ,” She reassured him quickly, “But Nilfgaard wants the heir, and she’s travelling with him, which means they’re after Geralt. They’ll try to use you to find him.”

“I haven’t seen him in _years_.” Jaskier complained, heart rate slowly returning to normal. “...Thank you for telling me,” He said reluctantly, because that _was_ good to know. “I have been thinking of retiring, anyway.”

“You can’t go to Oxenfurt.” Yennefer pointed out.

“Yes, I know that.” Jaskier rolled his eyes, because, _obviously._ “I mean, this name, face, alias. Might even start a rumour that I died. Be a shame to lose credit for my songs, but it’s not like I haven’t done it before.”

Strangely, that didn’t seem to reassure her, her eyebrows drawing together as Yennefer frowned. “Don’t do that either.”

“If you keep shooting down my ideas, you’re eventually going to have to start supplying some.” Jaskier joked. When she continued to stare at him gravely, he raised one of his eyebrows in a silent question.

“...You could join us.” Credit where it’s due, Yennefer still made the offer despite how much she clearly hated doing so.

“And watch while you and Geralt play family?” Only supreme self control stopped Jaskier from shuddering, though he couldn’t keep his distaste from his expression. “I’ll take my chances with Nilfgaard, thanks.”

“I won’t let you endanger her.” Yennefer hissed, which just confirmed the first part of Jaskier’s statement.

“I won’t.” Jaskier said. When she continued watching him doubtfully, he hardened his expression. “Yennefer. I _won’t_. I _do_ know how to keep a low profile.” He sighed, thinking of the little lioness watching when he came to perform for her birthdays. “And I wouldn’t do that to her.”

Still not entirely happy, but convinced at least, Yennefer reluctantly nodded. “Good travels.” She said after a pause, and Jaskier did shiver this time, from the feel of a blessing crawling over him, settling inside of him.

“And to you.” Jaskier returned with a nod, though he knew he couldn’t match her in terms of power. Judging by her half-smile, she knew this, but appreciated the gesture.

Finally, Jaskier was able to make his exit, heading upstairs to the room that he booked earlier. After setting arranging the room to his satisfaction (including wedging a chair in the door, a trick he picked up while travelling with Geralt), Jaskier settled in bed. Either lulled by the wine, or drained for the fraught conversation, he found that sleep came easily to him.

***

It was just Jaskier’s luck that his attempt laying low _still_ ended up with him captured by Nilfgaard. The fact that Yennefer was there too when he got thrown into his cell, was both a small relief (it wasn’t just him in the shit) and slightly terrifying (how the _fuck_ had they managed to capture her?).

Both waited to speak until the soldiers left, so it was just the two of them. Once the heavy wooden door closed, Yennefer immediately spun to glare at Jaskier. “ _Really_?” She hissed, glaring daggers at him.

“Says you,” He sniped back, because apparently he regressed to his prepubescent self around her.

Judging by the unimpressed slant to her mouth, she was thinking the same thing. “You can get out of those, yes?” Yennefer asked, referring to the shackles around Jaskier’s wrist.

With a grimace, he shook his head. “Iron.” Jaskier said simply, and then clarified; “They don’t know, they just got lucky.” He was just grateful that they had slapped the cuffs over the part of his wrist which was covered by sleeves, or else the jig would be up. “What’s _your_ excuse?”

“Dimeritium.” Yennefer titled her neck so the low light of the dungeon glinted off the ring of metal collared around her neck, which suppressed her ability to use magic.

“Damn it.” Jaskier sighed, slumping against the wall. The ringing silence for Yennefer’s cell was her tacit agreement of the same.

***

For lack of anything better to do, they spent the resulting lull to get caught up on what had transpired since the last time they had seen each other; Jaskier’s side of things was fairly dull (hiding out at his family’s estate, basically), _especially_ when contrasted against Yennefer _breaking the rules of chaos_. No wonder the soldiers were able to get the drop of her. She must be having a hell of a time reigning her powers back in.

“And our mutual friends?” Jaskier had to ask.

“Safe.” Yennefer replied simply, unwilling to say more in the current setting.

Releasing a breath he wasn’t aware that he’d been holding, Jaskier nodded absentmindedly. The not-knowing had been the worst part of the passing months, and a part of him was glad to receive the update, regardless of the circumstances which led to it.

“Jaskier—” Whatever Yennefer had planned say next, Jaskier wasn’t sure, because their captors chose that moment to reappear and drag Jaskier out.

Luckily, it turned out to be fairly rudimentary skullduggery; posturing and vague threats, while displaying a clear lack of awareness of the fury that was bound to come down on them (not that Jaskier thought Geralt would care about him, but he would come for Yennefer, definitely).

That was until Jaskier had to go and open his fucking mouth, systematically laying out the flaws in their plan, attire, general countenance, and so on.

Then they got angry.

His reputation as a bard preceded him, rather unfortunately in this case. “Let’s see how well you play with broken fingers, hm?” The burliest and angriest of them said, a cruel glint to his eyes. “Hold him.” To the others.

Jaskier struggled, of course, but the odds and numbers were against him. All he could do was watch as the man broke several fingers on his right hand. Due to the pain, Jaskier kind of... went away after the first snap.

Once they were done, the soldiers handed him back to the one apparently in charge of the dungeons, and Jaskier saw his opportunity.

It was hard to do it with the cold iron sapping his strength, and to move past the pain of his throbbing hand, but Jaskier was able to concentrate enough to let some unreality surface; his skin grew paler, his eyes brighter, and the jailer swayed forward, drawn in by the floral scent inexplicably floating through the air.

He _hated_ doing this, but needs must; Jaskier leaned forward enough that they collided. 

A moment later, the glamour dissipated. Scowling with disgust, the man pushed Jaskier away. Jaskier staggered back a few steps but managed to catch himself from falling. “What...” The man began, blinking rapidly as if clearing spots from his vision. “Get back into your cell!”

Feeling a weary triumph, Jaskier allowed himself to be pushed and pulled until he was locked back up.

“Did they—” Yennefer practically hit the bars, as she strained forward, trying to catch a glimpse of Jaskier.

Was she... concerned? That was new, while also raising the question of _why_. In any case, “I’m fine.” He gritted out, cradling his injured hand. “Just... Some broken bones. Anyway...” It took a bit of fumbling but Jaskier pulled out the set of keys he pawned off of the guard, and flung them at Yennefer.

She caught them, and there was a pause as Yennefer processed this. “They _kept the keys_ on them?” She asked incredulously.

“Their incompetence is our gain.” Jaskier shrugged. “Now hurry up, before they realize what I did.”

Yennefer didn’t need to be told twice.

***

“Well that certainly wasn't an overreaction at all.” Jaskier drawled, watching from a safe distance, as the keep became engulfed in super-heated flames. Hell hath no fury indeed. He had at least managed to talk Yennefer down from turning _too_ many men into a fine mist.

“It’s called sending a message.” Yennefer snarked back. “Now come on.” She got up into the horse’s saddle, and waited for Jaskier to do the same with the horse next to him.

“I don’t really think—” Jaskier began. He was tired, and his hand hurt. They hadn’t had time for Yennefer to do anything more than rig up a sling to rest it in.

“Jaskier.” Her tone _dared_ him to try and argue. “Get on the damn horse.”

“...Yes ma'am.”

***

To his credit, Jaskier lasted a few hours before breaking the silence that had fallen between them. “So... Where exactly are we going? Why aren’t we just portaling? And why are we still together again?”

Letting out a heavy sigh through her nose, Yennefer glared at him balefully. “Somewhere safe; Portals can be traced; I’m still enduring your company because clearly whatever you were doing wasn’t working.”

Making a small sound of outrage, Jaskier glared right back. “I’m not the only one who got captured.” He pointed out, while being fully aware that he was poking a magically supercharged bear, so to speak.

“I have extenuating circumstances.” She sniffed haughtily. “Remind me, what’s your excuse?”

He grimaced, knowing she had him there. “Which just underscores why I should just go with my retirement plan, except, oh, that’s right. For some reason you strongly cautioned me against doing so. Why was that, again?”

“Because.” Yennefer gave another sigh. “I would never hear the end of it if you disappeared.”

Genuinely confused, Jaskier frowned. “Who would care? I doubt your... daughter spares me any thought; I’d be surprised if she even remembered who I was.” Maybe she meant... But no, there was no chance.

Yennefer levelled him with a look that said he was trying what remained of her very limited patience. “Don’t play dumb, bard. It isn’t a good look on you.”

“ _Anything_ is a good look on me.” Jaskier shot back, on principal, and then, “Wait, what? Yennefer.” He willed his sincerity into his voice. “Geralt well and truly does _not_ give a fuck about me.”

Yennefer just rolled her eyes, but thankfully let the subject drop, likely in response to the weariness colouring his tone. “In any case, you can’t play music with your injury; I know a healer who can help. You have no reason not to stay with us.”

He hated it when she was right.

***

Once they ended up in the ass-end of nowhere, after putting a good distance between them and the keep, Yennefer _finally_ opened a portal and they went through. They emerged in a forest clearing with a cozy looking cottage, and dismounted from their horses.

A lovely woman with wildly curly hair emerged from the front door at the sound of the portal. “Yennefer!” She ran up to her, and they embraced. “Where have you been?”

Slumping into the hold, Yennefer closed her eyes, clearly basking in the moment. “Ran into a spot of trouble with some soldiers, but I’m fine. We’re fine.” When the other woman drew back to give her a once over, Yennefer let out a huff of fond laughter. “ _Triss._ I’m fine, I promise.”

Triss cupped Yennefer’s face, taking another moment to check, before she gave a reluctant nod. She drew her in for a quick kiss, and when they parted, she _finally_ noticed Jaskier, who had been awkwardly lingering nearby. “And who is this?”

Giving a one-handed wave, Jaskier winced when it jostled his injured hand. “Jaskier the bard, at your service. I’d bow, but, well.” He gestured to the sling.

Something focused in Triss’ gaze as she took in his injury. She clicked her tongue and shook her head. “Let’s get you inside, and then I’ll take a look at that.” Gently taking him by the elbow, Triss firmly escorted him into the cottage.

“I’ll just put the horses away, I guess?” Yennefer called after them, amused.

***

It took a moment for Jaskier’s eyes to adjust once they got inside. The home was surprisingly spacious, with the table and chairs right front of them, a small kitchen to the left, and a living space to the right. There was no one else on the floor, but there were footsteps coming from upstairs, as someone appeared on the stairway, leaning over it.

“Is Yenn back?” Ciri asked, before her eyes widened. “Jaskier?”

Oh, Jaskier was going to _kill_ Yennefer. She hadn’t said _anything_ about Ciri being there, and where the little lioness was, Geralt was sure to be close. Still, none of that was Ciri’s fault, so Jaskier gave a weak smile. “Ah, so you do remember who I am! I’m honored.”

Triss continued to herd him to the collection of comfortable looking chairs, where they both sat on a couch. “Ciri, come over and take a look. This will be good practice for you.” She called as she carefully undid the sling, giving a sympathetic wince at the quiet hiss of pain that Jaskier let out. With gentle hands, Triss cradled Jaskier’s injured hand, taking in the damage. “What did they do this with?” She asked.

“Uh...” Jaskier darted a nervous gaze over to Ciri, who was hovering in front of them. “Should she really be here for this?”

“Yes.” Triss said simply, and a touch impatiently. “Now my question...?”

“Pliers.” He sighed.

She nodded, before using a hand to gesture for Ciri to come closer. “They’re clean breaks, mostly, so it won’t be too hard to knit the bones back together.” Triss explained to Jaskier. “But they’ll be delicate for a bit, and you’ll need to give them a week or so for the healing to settle in.”

Slowly, painstakingly, Triss healed a few fingers, before guiding Ciri through the process of doing one. That seemed to tire Ciri out, and Triss finished up the rest. Partway through, the front door opened, and Geralt came in. Seeing Jaskier, he turned and walked right out again. Jaskier tried not to take it too personally, though it was hard not to.

When Triss was done, she sat back heavily and gave a tired sigh. “Give me a second, and I’ll re-do your sling.”

“Don’t you move.” Yennefer admonished, who had appeared a short time after Geralt fucked off. “I’ll do it.” There was a silent exchange between the two women, which ended with Triss giving a mock huff of dismay but sitting back, while Yennefer smiled smugly.

As Yennefer rearranged Jaskier’s arm in the sling, Ciri stirred. She had been dozing off against Triss’ side, and was woken up when Tris had moved. Blinking sleepily, Ciri quietly asked, “Who did this?”

Jaskier froze, glancing to Yennefer for guidance. If he had been reading things right, she had taken Ciri under her wing, and so it was up to her on how to handle things. “Nilfgaard,” Yennefer replied briskly, “But it’s Jaskier’s own fault for getting caught.” When he made an offended noise, she shot him a look, and he bit back anything further in the face of Ciri’s dismay.

“Look,” He tried, placatingly. “It’s okay. I’ll be fine, thanks to you and Triss.”

Biting her lip, Ciri reluctantly nodded. Her next question was, “Does that mean you’ll be staying with us?” She seemed excited at the prospect, which was surprisingly gratifying for Jaskier’s ego.

“No,” Jaskier said, at the same time as Yennefer said, “Yes.”

“Until his hand is healed, at least.” She continued. “And then we’ll have to think of a way for him to keep a low profile.”

“I have a plan.” Jaskier muttered, not sulking at all.

“It’s a terrible plan.” Yennefer replied breezily, without any regard for Jaskier's feelings. “Ciri, go get Geralt, please? He’s hiding in the stables. He should start dinner soon.” With a final glance between Yennefer and Jaskier, Ciri nodded and left the house.

Suddenly exhausted, Jaskier slumped back. “Thank you.” He belatedly said to Triss. “For the healing. I don’t know what I would do if the damage had been permanent.” The thought of it made him shudder and feel faintly sick.

“You couldn’t have fixed it yourself?” Triss asked, opening her eyes and looking over.

“Ah, so you could tell too.” Jaskier smiled self-consciously. “I’m sure with training, I could learn, but as is, I’m afraid I’m mostly only good for parlor tricks and music.”

“Don’t sell yourself short.” Yennefer told him. “Though I am surprised you didn’t make an effort to learn healing earlier, when you were trailing after Geralt like the love-sick puppy.” Because it was just Jaskier’s luck, as she said that, Geralt and Ciri re-entered the house. Ciri probably didn’t hear it, but judging by the way Geralt froze, he did.

“Thanks for that.” Jaskier muttered, with a sigh.

“You’re welcome.” Yennefer replied easily. “Up with you.” To Triss, who she helped stand. “You’re going to rest while we wait for dinner. Ciri, would you like to come with us?” It took a moment, but Ciri seemed to realize they were trying to make it so the two men were left alone.

“Okay!” She agreed cheerfully, letting go of Geralt’s hand, and taking Yennefer’s instead. All three headed upstairs, despite the desperate looks shot at them by both Geralt and Jaskier.

Once they were gone, an awkward silence fell.

Keeping his gaze on the ceiling, Jaskier sighed. “Once I’m healed up, I’ll be out of your way.” He said, not looking at Geralt. “And after _that_ , I won’t be your problem anymore, so you can continue to live your life blessedly free of me.”

“You’re hurt?” Bafflingly, _that_ was the part that Geralt latched onto. He quickly crossed the room and hovered in front of Jaskier. Seeing that it was Jaskier’s hand, his eyes widened. “What _happened_?”

Utterly exhausted, Jaskier had to close his eyes, unable to deal with the evidence in front of him, that Geralt might actually care. “Not your problem.” Jaskier repeated. “Yennefer is fine, and Ciri is safe, and that’s all that matters, right?”

Silence stretched, until there was the sound of movement; Jaskier opened his eyes to see Geralt retreating to the kitchen. Suddenly, the idea of moving, or keeping his eyes open any longer, seemed a monumental task. The day was catching up to him, he thought, as he slipped into a doze.

***

The first few days at the cottage passed in a blur. Jaskier and Geralt still didn’t talk about what happened between them on the mountain, or what had happened since. But suddenly Jaskier had gained a Witcher-sized shadow; it seemed like he couldn’t do _anything_ without Geralt trying to do it for him instead.

It was torture.

If Jaskier were a more hopeful sort, he’d think it was Geralt’s way of apologizing to him; actions instead of words. But it was more likely, he thought bitterly, that Geralt thought he was useless and in need of the constant assistance.

Having Ciri around was the one upside. Even though she had haltingly told him what she’d been through after the fall of Cintra, there was still a brightness to her. That, and he appreciated the fact that both Geralt and Yennefer were putty in her hands.

Not that Jaskier was any more immune to her charms. He just didn’t delude himself into thinking he was anything more than a pleasant diversion for a young girl who’d been through hell and back.

***

Ciri’s persuasive powers were directly responsible for Jaskier’s secret getting out.

It was a beautiful sunny day, and Ciri was taking a break from her sword fighting practice with Geralt. He had disappeared inside to get more water for both of them. From his spot in the shade, Jaskier had been watching them. He still wasn’t able to use his mended hand much, and the distraction was much needed to stop him obsessing over the fact that he still couldn’t play anything.

When Ciri came and sat next to him, there was a brief, peaceful silence, until Jaskier realized that something seemed to be bothering her. Gently, he bumped a shoulder against hers. “A copper for your thoughts?” Jaskier tried to keep his voice gentle, without any expectation.

“I don’t want...” Ciri sighed. “I know I’m going to have to protect myself, and other people. But... I don’t want to have to fight. What if...” She swallowed. “My grandma hurt people, people who didn’t deserve it. What if I end up like her?”

He gave her worry the moment of contemplation that it deserved. “I think...” Jaskier said slowly. “The fact that you’re worried about that, is a sign that you'll be different. Yennefer’s morals are...” He hesitated, searching for a delicate way to phrase it. “Flexible, to say the least. But Geralt is a _good man_ , and I trust that under his direction, you’ll be fine.”

Suddenly, Jaskier found himself being hugged by Ciri. “Thank you.” She said, voice muffled from where she was pressed against Jaskier.

The position jostled his arm uncomfortably; Jaskier shifted for a better angle, and then hugged her back. “You’re welcome, dear heart.” He murmured into the crown of her head. “Now! I think I know of a way to cheer you up.”

Curious, Ciri drew away. “What is it?”

While the hand gestures weren’t entirely necessary, it had been years since he’d done this, and they helped. He moved his hand through the air, causing glowing blue light to leave a trail. The light eventually coalesced in a chubby fox, who pranced around Ciri.

She gasped. “Oh! It’s so cute! Can I...” Tentatively, she reached out. The fox rubbed its cheek against her hand, its tail wagging. “It feels so soft and warm.” Ciri turned to Jaskier. “I didn’t know you were magic.”

“Neither did I.” Remarked Geralt, who was suddenly standing _right there_.

“By the gods!” Jaskier gasped, hand flying to his chest. “We should put a bell on you. You shouldn’t just sneak up on people like that!”

“Hm.” Geralt seemed amused. “Ciri knew. You should’ve been paying better attention.”

“And you didn’t tell me?” Jaskier turned to Ciri and gasped. “Betrayal!” In his surprise, the spell lapsed; the fox disappeared into a blob that slowly faded away.

Ciri watched it go, before refocusing on Jaskier, smiling mischievously. “And miss out on that reaction?” She giggled, and Jaskier found his aggravation fading away at the sound. Judging by Geralt’s soft smile, he felt the same way.

“Very well.” Jaskier gave a theatrical sigh. “I suppose I’ll forgive you.”

She flashed him a smile. “Good! Also,” Proving that Yennefer definitely was being a bad influence on her, “You didn’t answer my question.”

Nervously, Jaskier glanced between her and Geralt, who stared back, impassively. He sighed, shoulders slumping. “I’m a Changeling.” Jaskier simply said. “Unwanted by the fae or the humans who got stuck with me.” Trying to appear unaffected, he shrugged. Aiming for levity, addressing Geralt, “I’m surprised you never noticed.”

“Hm.” Geralt spent a moment regarding him, before passing Ciri the water. “Once you’re done with that, we’ll go back to training.” Ciri nodded, cheer falling away, replaced by a stoicism that mirrored the man in front of her.

Privately, Jaskier mourned the loss, and wondered who would be around to teach Ciri not to take life so seriously. He wished it could be him, but, well. There was no place for him in Geralt’s family, no matter how much he wished there could be.

***

In the blink of an eye, a week passed; then Jaskier stayed another, just to be safe. He worked with Triss to do exercises for his hand to help get it back to full mobility (he might’ve teared up a little because emotions, the first time he played again, but that was between him and his lute). Finally, Jaskier started feeling like he was overstaying his welcome.

As he packed his things, Ciri came up behind him. “You’re leaving?” She asked, eyes wide and full of disappointment.

The weak smile he gave her wasn’t his best effort, but he tried. “I’m afraid so. There’s things I have to get back to.” A lie, but a necessary one. Jaskier hesitated, and then said, “Don’t be surprised if you hear... certain rumours about me.”

“Like what?” Ciri asked, frowning.

He wasn’t sure if telling her would be a kindness or not; he hoped it was. “Well, I’m afraid I’ve gotten to be a bit too well known. It's common knowledge that I'm...” Jaskier couldn’t bring himself to use the possessive. “The bard who travelled with the White Wolf — the man that Nilfgaard is seeking. It’ll be better for everyone if I just... disappear.”

“Where are you going?” Ciri asked, eyes somehow growing wider.

“I’m not going anywhere. The bard named Jaskier, however...” He trailed off and shrugged. “He might meet an unfortunate fate, while I don a new face and a new name. No one will know the difference.”

“So you can come back, then.” She pressed.

Oh, Ciri was just determined to make this hard on him, wasn’t she? “I can’t.” Jaskier tried to make his voice as gentle as possible. “It’s been lovely, spending this time with you. But you don’t need a silly old bard around.” Nor did Geralt, he thought bitterly. “I’d just...” He swallowed. “Be a burden.”

“You won’t be!” Ciri’s voice rose in pitch and volume. “I don’t want you to leave!”

“Ciri—” Heart breaking, Jaskier reached out for her. The pain in his chest increased when she skittered out of his reach, shooting him a betrayed glance.

“Fine!” She spat. “Leave. Just like everyone else does.” There were tears in her voice, and brimming in her eyes, as Ciri turned and ran off.

The temptation was there to go after her, but he didn’t have the right. Instead, Jaskier sighed, and went back to packing. 

Even his hearing could pick up the deliberate sound of footsteps approaching. A quick glance confirmed that it was Geralt. Holding back another sigh, Jaskier turned away. “I don’t suppose it would be too much to hope that you didn’t hear any of that.”

A long pause, long enough that Jaskier was sure it wouldn’t be broken. But then it was. “Ciri doesn’t want you to leave.” Geralt rasped.

Biting down on his lip, Jaskier tried to push back his unsettled emotions. “Yes, I’m well aware of that. She’ll get over it, though. A bard has no place in her tale, except to sing of it one day.” And yes, it hurt like hell that it couldn’t be him, but such was life.

“Yennefer will worry about you.” Geralt pointed out, rather nonsensically.

Jaskier snorted. “Probably, for some reason. But she won’t have to worry about me much longer. It’ll be safer for everyone if I... keep my distance.”

“Jaskier...” Geralt wasn't a man to beg, but he sounded close to it.

Setting down the clothes he was holding, Jaskier turned, taking him in. Still the same man he had fallen in love with, all those years ago. _This one_ , his heart sang, _this one’s mine_. But Geralt didn’t belong to _anyone_ and it was time Jaskier remembered that.

“What do you want me to say?” Jaskier asked, tired and heartsick. “You made it quite clear what you think of my presence. I won’t burden you with it any longer.”

Geralt winced. “I didn’t mean it.”

“No, you did, at the time.” Jaskier shrugged, and had to turn away. It was like looking at the sun; Geralt was too bright, too beautiful. “Twenty years — what would’ve been the best years of my life, if I was mortal, and you didn’t want to even admit we were friends. But it’s okay.” It wasn’t. “I’ve come to terms with it.” He hadn’t.

Another gap of silence.

“Please.” Geralt finally said, stepping closer, voice sounding like it had been drawn out of the bottom of his chest. “Don’t leave me again.”

How long had Jaskier spent, wishing he could hear those words? But he found they didn’t soothe him, like he thought that would. “Why?” Jaskier asked, “So you can spend more time insulting me, taking out your temper on me? No thank you.”

“How I treated you was wrong.” Geralt admitted, through gritted teeth.

“It was.” Jaskier agreed. “Thank you for saying that.” He continued packing.

“Damn it Jaskier! What do you want me to say?” Geralt snapped, reaching out. 

When he felt Geralt’s hand on his arm, Jaskier took a step back, turning to glare at him. “Don’t touch me.” He snapped, eyes taking on an inhuman sheen in the low light of the second floor. “And I shouldn’t have to tell you.” Not that the words even mattered, not really.

Showing an ounce of emotional intelligence for _once_ in his life, Geralt asked, “Is there anything I can say?”

At that, the fight went out of Jaskier. He sighed heavily, shoulders slumping. “No. I’m not being fair to you.” He admitted, causing Geralt to inhale sharply. Jaskier continued, “I love you,” His mouth twisted into a resigned smile; there was no joy in his confession. “I’ve loved you for almost thirty years. And I know, even if you _do_ value me as a friend and companion, you don’t love me back.”

The gutted expression on Geralt’s face was as much an answer as his silence.

Finally, Jaskier finished packing his bag, and slung it over his shoulder. Picked up his lute case, and turned to take in Geralt, one last time. “Take care of Ciri. Take care of yourself.” Jaskier hesitated, and then allowed himself a small indulgence. Leaning in, he kissed Geralt on the cheek, a gentle brush of lips against skin. “Bye.” He whispered, and then stepped around him, and left.

***

With a grimace, Yennefer agreed to open a portal to Oxenfurt for him. “Look after them?” Jaskier had to ask. She nodded, eyes soft with sympathy, or maybe pity. “Thank you.” He stepped through, and he thought he felt Yennefer’s hand brush over his shoulder, and the portal closed behind him.

As Jaskier walked the streets of Oxenfurt, he spun a glamour around him. A subtle thing, one that meant everyone’s eyes slid off him. Though he hated to admit it, he _had_ gotten complacent, the last few months. But no more; if not for the sake of his own skin, then for Ciri (and to protect the smile Geralt gave just to her).

When he was younger, Jaskier had set up a bolt-hole under a fake name. It had seemed romantic, at the time, though as the world grew darker, it became a last resort. He only ever visited it wearing a glamour, and only once a year to refresh the supplies.

Once the door was safely bolted behind him, he relaxed, glamour sloughing off like water. There was a small mirror tucked among his supplies. Jaskier unearthed it and took in his reflection, the face he had always worn.

Then Jaskier sighed, closed his eyes, and began thinking of what his new face would look like.

The process was interrupted when someone knocked on the door. His stomach dropped. He glanced around for a weapon, and didn’t find one. Cursing his past self, Jaskier began to draw up a defensive spell. With a gesture of his hand, he pulled the door open.

Standing there on the other side was Geralt, with Ciri peeking around him.

Still, Jaskier hesitated. “What was the last thing we said to each other?” There was a part of him that was worried it was a trick, somehow.

“You told me you loved me,” Geralt answered. “Then to take care of Ciri and myself. And then you left. I... didn’t say anything.”

“I told you everyone leaves, and I ran away.” Ciri added. “I’m sorry Jaskier.”

He remembered what Ciri had told him about dopplers. One of his rings was silver. Cautiously, Jaskier held it out. “Touch this?” He asked. Geralt seemed impatient, but Ciri’s eyes widened in understanding. They both were able to touch the ring, and Jaskier let out a long sigh of relief. “Get in here.”

Both entered, and shut the door behind them. Smiling mischievously, Ciri went to poke around in the other room, purposely leaving the two men alone. “How did you find me?” Jaskier asked. It was easier to focus on that, than the fact that they had come after him.

“Yennefer put a tracking spell on you.” Geralt reached out and plucked something off the back of Jaskier’s shoulder. He tucked it back in a pocket. “She knew that neither of us were happy with the last things we said to you.”

“How could you risk bringing Ciri here?” Anger was easier too.

“Yennefer put glamours on us.” There was almost a smile on Geralt’s face. “You just saw through them, without even realizing they were there.”

“ _Why_ are you here?” Jaskier’s voice took on an edge of desperation. He knew that Geralt had already said, sort of, but...

“Because I’m sorry.” Geralt began. “I’m sorry for all those shitty things I said to you, and I’m especially sorry for what I said to you on the mountain. I know you don’t trust me, and I deserve that. I just want the chance to earn that trust back.”

Jaskier closed his eyes briefly, basking in _finally_ hearing those words. “Thank you.” He said, opening his eyes with a half-smile on his face. “You’re right, it’ll take time. But... If you want the chance, you have it.”

“And...” Geralt took a step forward, uncharacteristically hesitant as he reached out to touch a palm to Jaskier’s cheek. “You were wrong. I’ve spent thirty years telling myself I couldn’t be in love with you, that I was going to lose you in a handful of years.”

“And now?” Jaskier asked, his voice trembling.

“I still love you, if you’ll have me.” Geralt said, his voice soft and eyes nearly shining with love.

“I will, I want you too.” With a shaky laugh, Jaskier closed the distance between them, and finally, _finally_ kissed Geralt. They stayed locked in the embrace for a long moment, until there was the sound of someone clearing their throat.

Ciri peered into the room. She seemed conflicted, between being pleased that they made up, and being weirded out by seeing her sort-of father stick his tongue down someone’s throat. “Can I also apologize?” Her voice sounded very small.

Holding his arm out, inviting her to join in the hug, Jaskier beamed at her. “Dear heart, you have nothing to apologize for.” Making a sound caught between joy and pain, Ciri flung herself into the embrace.

“Now we’re going to go home, right? All of us?” Ciri asked after a pause.

Geralt glanced over to Jaskier for the answer; He took in his two favourite people, the ones he would write ballads about to immortalize them. “Yes,” Jaskier decided, feeling something settle within him. "Let’s go home.”

**Epilogue:**

That night, they built up a fire outside. The smell of burning wood was thick and comforting in the air. Ciri danced around the fire, throwing in bits of grass or dried leaves, to see what would happen. Triss and Yennefer were curled around each other, lost in their own world.

And Jaskier sat, back resting against Geralt’s chest, wrapped up in his arms. “Mine?” Jaskier asked tentatively, picking up Geralt’s hand and pressing a kiss against it.

“Yours.” Geralt confirmed, leaning forward and kissing Jaskier’s cheek. “And you’re mine.”

Yes, Jaskier thought, listening to his heart singing. They belonged to each other, and had, for years. Things weren't perfect and they weren't fixed; it would take more than two emotionally fraught conversations to mend things. But it was a beginning, at least.

**Author's Note:**

> p.s. Wanna buy me a coffee? Or got an idea you'd like me to write? Check my twitter (@thegr8atuin) for more info!


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